Why is it, just when I know exactly what I’m doing with the piece of writing I’m working on, I immediately feel the need to celebrate with a cup of coffee? This inevitably takes me away from my computer and out into the kitchen, where I’ll be distracted further by next door’s cat sniffing at my rubbish (Thursday writing day is also Thursday bin day, and living on the nipple of the city apparently we’re too awkward to warrant the supply of wheelie bins) and if I’ve been stupid enough to leave a bit of chicken in the rubbish, the feckin’ animals will stop at nothing in their quest to strew my path with crap all the way to the end.
So I spend the next ten minutes – firstly squirting the cats with Dominic’s mega-super-duper-hotshot- pump- action-hyper-hydro-blaster – (that’s a water pistol to you and me) and then picking up half chewed chicken and soggy crisp packets full of snails.
By the time I get back to the kettle the water’s gone cool again, and if you boil the same stuff again it starts tasting metallic and shite. So I empty the kettle, re-fill it with fresh water and switch it on, trying not to look out of the window in case the cats have got over their fear of aforementioned Sherman tank-esque squirter, and then the biscuit tin strays into view.
Well come on, what’s a girl to do? Maryland Chocolate Chip cookies are about the only kind of chocolate I’m biologically programmed to require on a daily basis, and it’s impossible to take one, they’re just too small and look terribly lonely sitting on my hand. Still, it’s a well known fact that if you eat something really quickly you don’t have time to gain calories from it; your brain hasn’t worked out the correct quantities of hydrogenated fats it’s having to distribute around your arteries and your arse, so it gives up and pretends it never happened.
So by the time I’ve got over the guilt and made the coffee, the original problem solving brainwave has faded into a murky kind of shadowy thing at the back of my mind, and the only way to put cats, soggy chicken and chocolate biscuits out of my head is to read back over what I’ve just written and hope the spark comes back.
That’s why I’m blogging instead.
One day, when I’m rich and famous, I’ll look back and laugh.
Ha, bloody ha ha.